


A Proper Welcome

by crookedneighbour



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014)
Genre: Ableism, Canon Divergence, Eye Scream, M/M, Skull Fucking, Torture, gore porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4671611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedneighbour/pseuds/crookedneighbour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ramsay comes to Ironrath he takes what he pleases and punishes those who have failed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proper Welcome

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during episode 4 with Rodrik having made the decision to main Gryff.

The halls of Ironrath had proved easy to retake. Twenty good men were hardly a force to be reckoned with, especially when Ramsay had his father's men, Bolton men, behind him. To think the Whitehills had been overpowered by such a force was laughable. The Whitehills were a sniveling lot, eager to prove themselves and gain his father's favor. Lord Whitehill was by far the most sycophantic of them all, always going around with his chest puffed out. Ramsay had offreed to put him down, but his father had simply smiled briefly at the suggestion. _Wait._ _Let the dogs fight for scraps, Ramsay..._ That is what his father had said and Ramsay had waited.

Gryff Whitehill, Lord Whitehill's fourthborn son, now rotted and squirmed before him.  _So many sons, surely he could spare one._ Ramsay could have appreciated his position, three older brothers in the way, he was hardly even relevant, but he knew how Gryff had spoken of him. Envious of Ramsay's position andthinking himself in private, he'd sorely referenced Ramsay's low birth under his own roof.  _How unbecoming of a lesser man._

The two Forrester men's bodies were still cooling as Ramsay descended the stairs to the cellar. Gryff turned his head from the torchlight at first. 

"Well, well, aren't you the sight for sore eyes?" Ramsay sneered, casually strutting to where Gryff knelt.

"Oh.. Of course.. More like sore eye--singular, in your case," he continued, chuckling at his own joke. "My apologies."

"This is no laughing matter, Bolton," Gryff hissed. "That cripple, look what he's done to me!"

Ramsay clucked his tongue, moving around Gryff in a slow circle. Stubborn and sef-absorbed as always.

"That cripple went against my father's law and he will pay for that," Ramsay corrected. "The Forrester's are unruly and I.. No- we of House Bolton, have known that from the beginning. What surprised me was your behavior... I heard he beat you with that sad little stick he carries around... Is that true?"

Ramsay could barely contain his laughter, and his last comment had drained the fight from Gryff. Gryff's face settled into a grimace, as Ramsay knelt down, torch in hand. On closer inspection he could see it was true, Rodrik had beaten his face to a bloody pulp and taken a good portion of his eye with it, though some left over matter still filled the wound.

Ramsay cupped his face, probing beneath Gryff's cheekbone with his thumb. Gryff whined in pain. The whole display was pathetic, but satisfying. Ramsay had done far worse than this to his Reek, and the thing had barely even gasped.

"How does Gryff the Gruesome sound?" Ramsay mused. "I think it suits you."

Gryff spat at that.  _Some fight in him afterall_.

"Don't test me, Lord Bolton," he sighed. 

Ramsay's teeth clenched at that. Just as Ethan and Rodrik had been made examples of, the Whitehills would require the same. Sure his father would understand.

"Or you'll what?" Ramsay snapped, tightening his grip on Gryff's face. "You're already injured... In fact you haven't seen a maester have you?"

Ramsay's face lit up.

"Why I can see there's still a few bits hanging in there. They'll need to be removed," he noted. "To prevent infection-- wouldn't want your whole face get eaten up now would we?"

Ramsay reached for his knife enthusiastically, Gryff's remaning eye darting after it.

"You wouldn't," Gryff swore.

"I've had quite the training in the physical arts you could say. Besides, my father always said anything you want done well you have to do yourself!"

Gryff screamed as the knife intially plunged into his flesh. Most, not all, but most men did. The first part would be to seer the remaining parts of is eyeball, from the thick strand that connected it to his brain.

"I always like the screamers," Ramsay hummed. 

Ramsay's men held the torch for him as he got to the more hands on work. There was a series of squelching noises as he scraped the remanin bloody matter from the opening.

Gryff shook as Ramsay worked, but he did not fight. His hands tightented around Ramsay's wrists only to fall back limply. How exciting this all was. He could tell Talia about it over dinner. That was a lovely idea if there ever was one. She was very pretty afterall. 

"It'll need to be cauterized or you'll bleed to death,"Ramsay explained matter of factly. He'd fucked a man's eyesocketthen burnedit clean before, buthe'd never tried the burned flesh itself. Maybe today was the day to try it. Ramsay frowned, imagining his father's face when he'd ty to share his excitement about it, and he had promised he'd be more subtle.

"You're lucky my father has use for your skin outside adorning his walls," Ramsay spat, disappointed. "Fail my family again and I'll fuck the other one clean out of your head."

In the fires Ramsay's knfe glowed orange. The smell of burning flesh always clung afterwards, but it suited him. If Talia had her manners she would say nothing of it. Or even better it would simply meld into the smells of their dinner. He'd make a game of if she could keep it down. She'd stomach seeing her brother die so this should be no problem.


End file.
